love poem

Ah woe is me, of passion naught I knew
Till Cynthia's glances pierced my poor heart through.
Love ruthless pressed his heel upon my head,
My eyes cast down, my pride all vanquished.
He taught me soon to hate each virgin's face
And reckless live in folly's fond embrace.
And now my madness burns for all a year,
While still the anger of the gods I bear.

Milanion, friend, by labors undismayed
Conquered the scorn of the Iasian maid.
See now he wanders in Parthenian caves,
And now with shaggy monsters blindly raves,

10. My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
11. His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.
12. His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.
13. His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.
14. His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.

2. My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
3. I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.

VOL. 2, C ANTIQUE 165

Since life in sorrow must be spent,
So be it — I am well content,
And meekly wait my last remove,
Seeking only growth in Love.

No bliss I seek, but to fulfil
In life, in death, thy lovely will;
No succours in my woes I want,
Save what thou art pleas'd to grant.

Our days are number'd, let us spare
Our anxious hearts a needless care:
'Tis thine, to number out our days;
Ours, to give them to thy praise.

Love is our only bus'ness here,

VOL. 2, C ANTIQUE 21

From thorny wilds a Monster came,
That fill'd my soul with fear and shame;
The birds, forgetful of their mirth,
Droop'd at the sight, and fell to earth;
When thus a sage address'd mine ear,
Himself unconscious of a fear.
" Whence all this terror and surprise,
Distracted looks, and streaming eyes?
Far from the world and its affairs,
The joy it boasts, the pain it shares,
Surrender, without guile or art,
To God, an undivided heart;

VOL. 2, C ANTIQUE 108

O H thou, by long experience tried,
Near whom no grief can long abide;
My Love! how full of sweet content
I pass my years of banishment!

All scenes alike engaging prove,
To souls impress'd with sacred love!
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in thee;
In heav'n, in earth, or on the sea.

To me remains nor place nor time;
My country is in ev'ry clime;
I can be calm and free from care
On any shore, since God is there.

In Bringing a Soul to the Point of Self-Renunciation and
Absolute Acquiescence

'T WAS my purpose, on a day,
To embark and sail away;
As I climb'd the vessel's side,
Love was sporting in the tide;
" Come, " he said — " ascend — make haste,
Launch into the boundless waste. "

Many mariners were there,
Having each his sep'rate care;
They that row'd us, held their eyes
Fixt upon the starry skies;
Others steer'd, or turn'd the sails
To receive the shifting gales.

VOL. 2, C ANTIQUE 236

A H ! reign, wherever Man is found,
My Spouse, beloved and divine!
Then I am rich, and I abound,
When ev'ry human heart is thine.

A thousand sorrows pierce my soul,
To think that all are not thine own:
Ah! be ador'd from pole to pole;
Where is thy zeal? arise, be known!

All hearts are cold, in ev'ry place,
Yet earthly good with warmth pursue;

VOL. 2, C ANTIQUE 54

I AM fond of the Swallow — I learn from her flight,
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of Love:
How seldom on earth do we see her alight!
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.

It is on the wing that she takes her repose,
Suspended, and pois'd in the regions of air,
'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows,
It is wing'd like herself, 'tis ethereal fare.

She comes in the Spring, all the Summer she stays,
And dreading the cold, still follows the sun —

On Receiving from her a Network Purse made by Herself

M Y gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no more
Than plaything for a nurse,
I danced and fondled on my knee,
A kitten both in size and glee!
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love: — that gem's too dear
For richest rogues to win it;
I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above